Arrivederci
by HipsterMustache
Summary: He was fed up with it all, and today was the day he said goodbye. T for mild language and suicide. Now apparently a threeshot, with a most surprising epilogue!
1. Arrivederci, World

_Hey! It's a-me! ;) But you done knew that. HERP DERP. Anyway, I was watching tel-eeeeeeee-vision and these plot bunnies started to eat my face, so here I am. Little...thingie I was thinking about, I'll explain motivation latahz. /shot_

_Probably...a bit of OOC-ness? Derp, could not be avoided. _

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, and since the real owner won't answer my letters, I probably never will X3**

**...**

...

It was all too impending, of course. He himself had expected this.

No one would be surprised, not with the life he'd experienced, everything he'd had to go through.

The people who'd hated him, the people who'd preferred his little brother over him. In other, more simple words, everyone. Spain, Grandpa Rome, Germany, France("_Not that I want that PERVERT'S attention!"_) and anyone else.

They wouldn't care. After all, who could miss such a whiny, spoiled, bitchy, annoying little brat?

He held the gun in his hand. His finger itching to go ahead and end it all, but his mind screaming _'wait'_. For the moment, he chose his mind.

He knew he was ready. He'd been thinking over this for the longest time, ever since he'd caught Spain trying to switch him for his little brother. That was when the thoughts started.

As an adolescent, he had fallen in love with Spain. He tried to deny it but it kept creeping back up on him. It came to the point where he would find himself staring at his caretaker, then when Spain looked over at him, he'd mutter something to do with the word 'bastard' and look away. But sooner or later he would have to tell him.

The day he was going to tell him of his feelings, he found Spain laughing and holding his little brother.

**-FLASHBACK-**

_Sneaking around, a small rose in his hand, Romano was trying to find his caretaker, Spain. Antonio. _

_His hands were clammy and his mind was blurred. He hadn't yet thought out what he would say, and it was going to be a complete wing-it moment. But he knew he'd somehow sneak both the "ti amo" and the rose into the conversation. _

_Just as he made his way to the kitchen, he knew Antonio was in there. He'd already looked all throughout the large house, and he knew it was about the time he would begin dinner anyhow. He peeked around the door frame shyly, as if to prolong the moment. What he saw made his tiny, lovesick heart shatter._

_"Feliciano, when you get older, will you marry me?" Spain asked brightly, that smile playing on his lips and his arms wrapped around the Italian in his lap. Feliciano giggled._

_"Of course!" Feliciano laughed and hugged Spain tight, who in return kissed Feliciano's forehead. _

_His eyes wide and filled to the brim with tears, his hand uncurled from around the rose, which softly and slowly drifted to the floor. He looked down and blinked, tears falling onto the fallen rose. Turning around, he quietly shuffled out and up to his bedroom._

_He didn't come down for dinner._

_If he hadn't have left, he would have seen Spain pick up the rose and put it in his pocket for safekeeping._

**-END FLASHBACK-**

It was obvious Spain was in love with Feliciano. It had always been obvious, with him always doting on Italy and treating him as a precious gem that always needed constant polishing. Whereas he seemed to treat Romano as a rotting tomato, something not quite yet gone and still needing attention, yet useless anyway.

In any case, who would miss him?

His hand tightened around the gun. Walking downstairs in his lovely summer home, he admired the soon-to-be bloodstained hardwood floor.

He walked into the kitchen, the light making him flinch. He set the gun down and opened the fridge, pulling out a tomato and staring at it in the palm of his hand.

He took a gentle nibble, not really hungry but wanting to postpone the tradgedy for at least a few more moments. As he finished the tomato, he threw away the rest and sat down at the kitchen table. Opening the newspaper, he began to read.

He read everything, from world news to sports. America's downfall in his economy (_"Hey, wait, that bastardo is invading _my _newspapers too! Why does he need to be on the front page of my ITALIAN newspaper?"_)and Italy's great soccer match last night. Not that any of it mattered.

He put the newspaper down, sitting in the chair for a few more moments. Many different things were flying through his head, from _'I hope everyone is happy...'_ to _'I forgot to water the plants'. _

He knew his land and people would survive. Italy would just take over his half of the country, and everything would be completely fine. Standing up, he shuffled over to the counter with the gun and took it in his hand.

Looking down at the gun, he gave a soft sigh, and lifted it to his temple. His index finger twitching, he put it on the trigger and pulled it a tiny bit.

_1..._

He started the mind countdown, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, his finger closing further.

_2..._

As he reached three, his eyes filled with tears and they fell slowly down his cheeks.

_...3._

And the trigger was pulled.

And there were no regrets from the man on the floor, drenched in red.

**...**

...

_Motivation is also depressing. I won't lie, I felt like doing this the other day. but then I thought about my lovely lover(not really! HAHA) and stopped the thoughts! _

_My crush is my best friend and my family loves me and that's good._

_For those who didn't know, I'm bisexuuuuaaaaal! ;DDDDDDD_

_I tried to add two little bits of humor. I do not know why, kill me if you wish. Also, I just suck at writing tradgedy. Should I write Spain and Italy's reactions or something?_

_If you like it, review! If you didn't, don't! Simple as that! (:_


	2. Italy

_Hey guys! School is going epic! I had a GIANT Doctor Who debate during lunch. So much fun. And my English teacher spent TEN MINUTES bashing the French! She goes, "The French are awfully snooty and stuck up." I was with my best Hetalia bud in that class and OMG we were laughing our asses off. And, our teacher asked for our first impressions of a book cover, which was a picture of a deserted island. My prediction? "One of the characters BLOWS UP! Spontaneous combustion!" Needless to say, it probably won't be like that. I also suggested Russian Roulette. _

_But that's too much __**jabber**__._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, and if anyone says I do it's unfortunately not true :{P_

**...**

...

Italy hummed to himself, holding the platic tupperware containing pasta to his chest. He was walking over to his fratello's house for lunch. He was going to surprise him, since he had been quite depressed lately.

_'Maybe I should call him...just to make sure he's home!'_ Italy thought, and seeing as how he thought it was a good idea, he took out his cell and hit speed dial number two.

_Ring..._

_Ring..._

_Ring..._

_"Hey, bastards. I don't know why you called but leave me a message and if I deem the shit you leave important enough I'll call back."_

"Um...hi, fratello! Just called to tell you I'm on my way over! Bye!" He left the cheerful message in Romano's inbox and put his phone away.

"Ve...Lovi hasn't been answering any of my calls today...I hope he's okay! Oh no! What if he dropped his phone into the toilet again? He just got that new phone, too." He pondered this as he walked up to Romano's house.

Seeing the door shut, he held the pasta in one hand and turned the doorknob, pushing the door open quietly. He stepped inside and immediately knew something was wrong. The room was cold and there didn't seem to be a single inch of life in the house. Looking over to the kitchen doorway, his eyes widened.

He could see Romano's hand on the floor in the kitchen, his fingers drenched in red liquid.

_'Please...tell me that's tomato sauce and Lovi's just taking a nap on the floor...!'_

Quickly dropping the pasta and causing it to spill all over the floor, he ran over and careened into the kitchen, almost tripping over something he didn't expect to see.

"LOVI!" He screamed, staring in shock at his brother's pale, cold form. Blood was pooled around his head, having soaked his hair to the core. Salty, burning tears formed in his eyes, and streamed down his face and cheeks as he dropped to his knees and crawled over to Romano's body.

"L-lov..." He choked on his own words, sobs forming in his throat. He buried his face into Romano's shirt, sobbing hard into the cold chest.

"Why...why...wh-why...?" His screams escalated to shrieks as he clutched at his shirt. Moving his face up to stare into Romano's dull, lifeless eyes, he cradled his face.

"Lovino...Lovi..." He was about to say something else before a piece of paper on the floor a little ways away caught his eye. Crawling over, he picked it up and wiped his tears away. He opened the envelope and unfolded the piece of paper with shaky hands, reading the words in scribbled handwriting...

_'I don't know who will find me first, but I'm betting on fratello and Antonio._

_Spain, if this is you, I wanted to tell you...I've been in love with you for years, bastard. But you never noticed, did you? All you cared about was your precious Feliciano, doting on him and caring only for him. I hope whatever happens, that you forget about me and go on caring for him. The only thing different is that I'm not there to try and steal your attention away. A part of me hopes you'll give a damn about this, and another part of me knows you won't. At least I'm not around to have my heart broken anymore, right? _

_Italia, if this is you, I love you too. We didn't have the close bond a lot of brothers have, but I still loved you. But clearly, I loved you a lot more than you loved me. I know you won't care when you read this, and I hope you don't. I hope you keep going on, taking care of our people and land. Enjoy Spain, I was never good enough for him anyway. Do me a favor. When you're done reading this, go up to my bedroom. There's something on the bed for you._

_To anyone else who finds this...arrivederci.'_

New tears burned in his eyes, falling onto the paper. Letting the paper flutter to the ground, he stood up and glanced over to his brother, finally cracking and leaning down, using two fingers to slide Romano's eyes shut. He couldn't look at him right now...

Shuffling up the stairs, holding back heavy sobs, he headed for Romano's room. Pushing the door open, his eyes widened at the sight laying on the bed.

It was a beautiful painting, of Romano and himself smiling under the shade of a large tree. He picked it up gently, as though it would shatter in his grip, and looked into the bottom-right hand corner. In loopy handwriting, it said:

_RLV_

_'F-fratello...painted this? For me? I..didn;t even know he could paint that well...'_

Finally he broke. He set the painting down gently before falling to his knees and releasing his pent up sobs into his hands and curling into a ball, whispering 'Lovi...' repeatedly.

He sobbed heavily, beginning to hyperventilate and clutching at his chest. He laid down on the floor, shaking with tears, and closed his eyes, laying there and doing nothing but crying. What else could one do when he found out he was one of the main reasons his own brother, his own flesh and blood, killed himself?

**...**

...

_Wow. This was cruddy. I cried a bit, though. :(_

_Spain next, and boy, will that be one long freaking chapter. _

_You know, this was originally going to be a oneshot. Now it is apparently a threeshot on accident. Funny how things happen like that. _

_Review! I'd love to hear what you have to say! The reviews keep me going! I'd like to personally thank L-chan the great. Bahaha...I wrote the first bit all like, "End it fluffily...fluff...fluffyyyyy...oh. Suicide. Blegh, too lazy of a writer to rewrite that. Looks like it's a sad bit." And thanks to the other reviewers! :)_


	3. Spain

_I have a ton of people to thank! First off, I'd like to thank all of you lovely reviewers, but one reviewer needs 'special mentioning'. _

_Vio Kirkland! I cannot believe you liked it that much. I really honestly love writing sad fics. I think I'm going to start a multichapter fic that's sad. Bah. But onto why I need to thank you. You want to write the WORLDS reactions. That should be epically epic._

_To be totally honest, I wasn't going to post this. I thought I'd get flames. But then I realized that if I didn't accept flames, I'd never be a successful writer. _

_Anyway, SPAIN TEIM_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or the characters, but I do own an orange. And it is my best frand. Also, it is tye-dye._

**...**

...

Spain, smiling his bright-as-always, oblivious smile, practically pranced down the street towards Lovi's house. He was coming to tell Romano something he'd been postponing for years, afraid of the tempermental Italian's reaction. He was in love with him.

YES. He knew it would make the Italian happy. He had caught the Italian's glances. The blushes. The small smiles sent his way. He knew his Lovi had been trying to hide it, but he didn't do it very well, or at least as well as he had thought.

Of course, it wasn't really surprising. Everyone had already thought they were together, but no, they were not. France and Gilbert had always asked him how his 'boyfriend' was doing. He had told them repeatedly that him and Lovi weren't together then, and then France usually yelled at him to 'make a move on him before I do!'

Reaching the front door of Romano's house, he paused, brows furrowing at the unusually open door.

_'Hm...Lovi's door is wide open. He never leaves it open. Maybe Feli's over!'_

Smiling at the prospect, he pushed the door open and walked inside, shutting the door quietly behind him. Creeping up the stairs, he held the rose behind his back and walked to Lovi's door. He furrowed his brows as he heard...sobbing from the other side?

He grinned as he opened the door, shoving it open' but not hard enough to where it made a loud. angry slam against the back wall.

"Lovi, I have to tell you so-" He began happily, then his gaze fell upon the silently sobbing, half asleep younger Italian laying on the floor, clutching tightly at a beautiful painting. Suddenly Feli looked up, eyes widening and he then broke out into loud sobs, puncing into the Spaniard's arms.

"SPAIN!" He cried, holding him tight and sobbing into his shoulder.

"F-feli? What's wrong? Where's Lovi?" He cried, worried. It took very few things to make the Italian cry this hard, and he was sure Lovi had something to do with it. Pointing a shaky finger out the door, Feliciano whispered in a cracked voice, "K-kitchen..."

Setting Feli gently down onto the floor, Spain quickly took off, flying down the stairs at record speed. He flung himself around the door frame of the kitchen with his hand, panting and out of breath. What he didn't expect was to slip in a sticky, red substance that coating a large portion of the tile floor.

And what he did certaintly not expect was HIS LOVI, laying in the middle of the pool, not breathing nor moving. Not in the slightest. In a tiny, shaky voice, Spain whispered, "L...lovi...?"

Without an answer from the pale Italian, Spain found himself burying his face into Lovi's neck without hesitation, screaming.

"LOVINO! N-NO! Come back! D-don't leave me, por favor!" His screams to no avail, he clutched the Italian's bloodstained shirt and sobbed heavily. It felt like his heart was shattering, breaking into so little of pieces he almost had no heart anymore. His entire brain shut down. All he could see or feel was Lovi in his arms, limp and cold.

Before he knew what he was doing, he pressed his warm, chapped lips to Romano's cold, unresponsive ones, kissing him gently with tears flowing down his cheeks and onto Romano's face.

Pulling away, he kissed Romano on the forehead before breaking down into more sobs, pounding his fists into the puddle of blood, uncaring about his now bloody fists.

"P-please...you can't be dead...who did this? I'll find them and kill them, kill them and make it hurt!" He was snarling angrily now, and he slammed his fists down again but this time, his left fist hit a lone piece of notebook paper that was laying, abandoned on the floor.

Wiping his bloody hands off onto his shirt, he picked it up with unsteady hands and opened it, trying to hold back his sobs that were building up in his throat.

He started to read what was written in what he recognized as Lovi's scribbly, I-need-to-write-this-now-damnit, handwriting.

_'I don't know who will find me first, but I'm betting on fratello and Antonio._

_Spain, if this is you, I wanted to tell you...I've been in love with you for years, bastard. But you never noticed, did you? All you cared about was your precious Feliciano, doting on him and caring only for him. I hope whatever happens, that you forget about me and go on caring for him. The only thing different is that I'm not there to try and steal your attention away. A part of me hopes you'll give a damn about this, and another part of me knows you won't. At least I'm not around to have my heart broken anymore, right? _

_Italia, if this is you, I love you too. We didn't have the close bond a lot of brothers have, but I still loved you. But clearly, I loved you a lot more than you loved me. I know you won't care when you read this, and I hope you don't. I hope you keep going on, taking care of our people and land. Enjoy Spain, I was never good enough for him anyway. Do me a favor. When you're done reading this, go up to my bedroom. There's something on the bed for you._

_To anyone else who finds this...arrivederci.'_

The piece of paper slipping from his hands, Spain stared at his hands in horror. It was...his fault. All his.

He was the reason his unannounced love was laying in a pool of his own blood. Him. Lovi thought he didn't love him. He thought he had been in love with Feli. He did love Feliciano, but like a big brother would! He loved Lovi like a person he wanted to spent the rest of his life with!

As though it were an uncontrolled reflex, his hands were immediately at his hair, pulling at his own brown, curly locks in fury.

_'Why? Why! It's...all...my...fault. All mine...Lovi, y-you were...right...I'm a BASTARD!'_

Breaking, he wrapped his arms around and under the Italian, holding him close to his chest. He whispered repeatedly, as though Lovi could hear him at this very moment, "...I love you...te amo...s-so much...I'm so sorry..."

He pressed his face into the crook of Romano's neck, where there would usually be a pulsing beat against his face. There was not.

He suddenly wished...that he had told him sooner. That he hadn't given Feliciano as much attention as he did. That he would have spent more time with his favorite Italy, and told him he loved him before all of this. Maybe it could have been prevented. He could have stopped this. He could have.

Setting Romano gently down again, he stood up, his knees almost buckling. Gripping the edge of the granite counter, he spotted the gun a little ways away from Romano's left hand. He started towards it.

_'I...could still be with him...all it takes is one shot...'_

Then he remembered.

**-FLASHBACK, ABOUT TWO WEEKS PREVIOUS-**

_"Spain..." Romano started, staring at his feet. It was the break in the meeting, and him and Spain were the only ones in the room. The rest were on some wild goose chase to catch Sealand, who had stolen all the papers for Germany's speech._

_"Hm?" Spain looked over at the seemingly sad Italian, his eyes widening. "Are you alright, mi tomate?" _

_"Y-yes...I'm fine...bastard. But...can you promise me one thing?" He said quietly, still not looking up from staring at his Italian leather shoes. He was twiddling his thumbs, biting his lip gently._

_"Of course! I'll do anything for you!" Spain said brightly, grinning. Romano suddenly glanced up from his feet, his eyes sad and unhappy. _

_"If...for some reason...I ever die...don't kill yourself. Just...don't. You can li-" He was interrupted by the laughing Spaniard._

_"Of course, Lovi! Why would I kill myself? I'd never do something so estupido!" He said, hoping that appeased the Italian. Romano stood up, pushing his chair over and not meeting the Spaniard's eyes._

_"Of course...that was a stupid question. Why _would_ you?" He said quietly, walking out, not looking back, head hanging._

_As soon as Romano shut the door behind him, tears began to stream down his face as he walked off._

_If only Spain would have realized...this would be the last time he saw his Lovi alive and breathing healthily. His last oppurtunity to say the three words he should have said a long time ago._

**-END FLASHBACK-**

He put his face onto the counter. He had to keep his last promise. He had to. For Lovi. He wouldn't do anything...

He whispered quietly to himself, eyes closed.

"Te amo, mi tomate..."

And the tears continued to fall.

And he dropped the rose. It fluttered to the ground softly, landing in the blood. It was the same rose...Romano was going to give him, all those years ago.

**...**

...

_...Wow. Guess what? Probably not last chappie! Might write an epilogue~!_

_Btw, the rose was plastic, for those who wondered, "Wait, how the hell did a rose last that long?"_

_Review! Plazz! :D If I can get at least five reviews, you get an epilogue ;)_


	4. Surprising Epilogue

_First off...fifteen freaking reviews! Wow! Thanks soo much, it made me grin my ass off. No lie. I've been mulling it over for the last few days and I'm going to end this...unexpectedly. I'll probably write a multichapter sequel to this, as well. You know, if you brolios want it :)_

_Warning: PLOT TWIST :P And, this epilogue mostly focuses on Spain, no flames bout this chapter even though it'll probably p*ss a few of you off! ;)_

_Disclaimer: I most certaintly do not own Hetalia, and Santa didn't bring the deeds to it last night...maybe cause it's August..._

**...**

...

It had been four months since the 'incident', as Spain and Italy preferred dubbing it. Through many tears and therapy sessions, they had been coping with the recent death. Spain, of course, had been taking it hard. He hadn't progressed as much as Italy in those months, and was dangerously close to isolation. He hadn't left his house in a month and a half, but on a certain Monday things seemed to go...particularly odd.

...

Spain woke to the sound of breaking glass. Not something he wanted to wake up to, but nonetheless he stumbled out of bed and grabbed his head, swaying. He had been drunk the previous night after trying to drink his sadness away, and was now stuck with a hellish-like hungover.

Trudging through his house, he winced when he stepped lightly on broken shards of a plate. He bent down to pick them up, then saw something out of the side of his eye. He looked up quickly, then glanced around, eyes bloodshot and wide.

"I-I could've sworn it was...no...I must be seeing things..." He muttered, picking up and throwing the bits of glass in the trash can.

For the next four hours, Spain sat on his couch and cried. He could just picture the angry-eyed Italian sitting next to him, telling him to turn on the television. The therapist had said that he needed to forget about Lovi and move on.

The therapist was sent to the hospital for multiple contusions and a broken arm.

Standing up, the spaniard realized he needed to eat. He shuffled to the kitchen, grabbing a tomato and biting into it. Turning around, he shut the fridge and leaned against the counter. Staring down at the tomato, he sighed. Then he saw a flash of green in the corner of his eyes. He looked up quickly, only to discover nothing was there.

Strange.

...

The next day, Spain was sleeping soundly in his bed. He snored lightly, and he woke up, hearing a young child's voice.

"Hey, bastardo! Che palle, breakfast!"

Jerking up, he looked around, eyes wide and panting heavily.

"L-lovi?" He cried, clutching the sheets. He could've sworn he heard him, sworn on his own life. But...it was impossible. The Italian was gone, dead, high up in the sky. Finally calming down, he laid back down but did not go back to sleep.

"Why am I seeing him everywhere?" He said quietly, staring up at the ceiling. It was as if his own mind was torturing him, teasing him with images of his beloved.

He hoped it would stop soon. He had no idea how much more he could possibly take.

...

By the time Friday had finally rolled around, he was slowly going crazy. Each day, multiple times, he swore he saw Romano standing there, giving him that loving glare like always.

He was about ready to kill himself, if it happened just one more time...

Walking into the kitchen for some breakfast, he grabbed a few churros from the fridge and plopped down in a seat. Sighing, he took a few bites and then dropped one. Grunting, he leaned down to pick one of them up. Out of the corner of his eye he could have sworn he saw Romano standing there. That finished it. Spain jumped up, eyes clenched shut, tears threatening to fall.

He reached in the the drawer, pulling out a knife and pressing it lightly to his neck.

"I c-can't take this anymore..." He whispered shakily, gripping the blade tightly. He was pressing the knife closer and closer until a gentle hand was laid on his shoulder, and an Italian accent rang through his ears.

"Don't...you promised, bastard."

His hand shakily uncurled, letting the knife fall to the ground with a loud clank. He slowly turned around, tears pricking at the edges of his eyes. His eyes met with a familiar pair of hazel ones. It was Romano. He was wearing a green coat, with black pants and had on no shoes. The edges of his body were slightly distorted and blurry.

Spain broke.

He attacked the Italian with a large hug, letting the sobs loose.

"L-lovi! Y-you...you're not dead! I...please, don't leave me again! I can't live without y-" He was shushed as Romano pushed him away and stepped back with a serious expression on his face.

"Spai-...Antonio. I don't have a lot of time, bastard! He'll notice I'm gone! Antonio, I was wrong...you do love me, I can see that now. I felt like a bastard for putting you though everything I did. After a lot of talking...Spain, I'm going to be reincarnated." He finished, looking out of breath but anxiously awaiting the spaniard's reply.

"Y-you...what?" Spain said, trying to piece together everything Lovi had just said.

"I'm going to be reincarnated, born again." Romano replied, hands in his pocket and clenched into fists. "I just...as punishment for what I did, I won;'t remember anything...Spain, in six years, I want you to promise me something. I want you to try to find me. Just try! I...I'd want to be with you, bastard, even if I couldn't remember you."

"Ok-okay...te amo, mi tomate..." Spain whispered quietly, wiping the tears off of his face.

"T...ti amo, pomodoro bastard." Romano said, a light smile playing at his lips. Then Spain looked down.

"Will...you still be a nation, Lovi?" Spain asked, a little bit curious. Romano sighed lightly.

"Yes, but I probably won't know it...I-I have to go, bastard! Remember, six years!" He said, pointing at him and beginning to disappear and fade around the edges. Spain gasped, reaching out for his arm but his hand going through air.

"N-no! Lovi, don't leave me! Please!" Spain cried, salty tears bubbling up into his eyes again. Romano shook his head.

"Arrivederci..." Romano called quietly, then disappeared fully/ leaving Spain standing alone, awestruck, in his kitchen. He could harldy believe anything he had just heard or seen. Yet somehow, he did. He believed it all, one hundred percent believed it.

And he knew, in six years, he would be attempting to find his love again.

In six years, he would be happy again.

He remembered what the Italian's last word to him had been. Arrivederci. He thought and thought, trying to remember the exact meaning of that word...

**-FLASHBACK-**

_"Hola, Lovi!" Spain said happily into the phone, balancing a book in his other hand. _

_"Si, bastard, what is it you need?" Romano said from the other end of the line, slightly annoyed. He had been in the middle of sleeping, and wasn't pleased about being woken up at three in the morning._

_"Oh, I just wanted to know the meaning to this one word...I know it's Italian...but what does arrivederci mean?" He said, looking down at the spot where he'd spotted the word in the book and listening for the response._

_"Arrivederci? Oh...it means, roughly, 'goodbye, but I hope we meet again'". Romano said, stifling a yawn with his hand. "Speaking of which...arrivederci, pomodoro bastard." Then the line went dead as the Italian man fell back to much-needed sleep. Spain smiled and put his phone away, going back to his reading. _

**-END FLASHBACK-**

"Arrivederci, mi tomate..."

**...**

...

_And...completo! Yes! I was thinking of a sequel, but I don't know. Maybe. I'll definetly do it for...twenty reviews? I got fifteen this time, twenty shouldn't hurt! X3_

_Thanks for reading! I really enjoy tragedy writing, so you can expect more from me in the future! :)_

**_SEQUEL NOW UP: MI TOMATE_**

_FIN_


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